


Laundry'll Do Ya

by LadyDrace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Drunkenness, Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Innuendo, Laundry, M/M, Neighbors, Police Officer Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 05:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11616579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: Derek has a thing for his cute neighbor. Thanks to laundry, and a little bit of drunkenness, it turns out it's not as one-sided as he thought.





	Laundry'll Do Ya

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vanillawg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillawg/gifts).



> This is a birthday fic for Fenellah. Hope you like it, sweetie. <3
> 
> Unbetaed, but thoroughly edited.

It all starts with the laundry.

 

Derek usually likes to do his laundry in the middle of the week, because he often takes weekend shifts at the station. He might as well, since he has no family at home to make time for. But the past few weeks have been incredibly busy with several intense cases right on top of each other, so he has a rare Sunday off, and while he'd much rather sleep, the state of his laundry pile is reaching critical levels.

 

To his luck there's an open slot in the building's laundry room schedule, and while it sucks that it's at eight a.m. on his first day off in way too long, he doesn't have enough clean _anything_ to stick his nose up at it.

 

He's not at all prepared, though, for the sight that greets him once he gets there.

 

As he pushes open the door, he has to stop dead and wonder for a minute if he's still asleep and having a really good dream, because in the middle of the laundry room is Mr. S from 303. Dancing to the inaudible music from his earbuds. And using moves way too filthy and sinuous for Derek's eight a.m. brain to handle.

 

He's only ever seen Mr. S in passing, but it's been more than enough to develop something of a minor crush on him, because he's amazing. Sure, he's a little clumsy sometimes, and he's not great at keeping the noise down on the rare occasions he has more than one friend over, leaving the entire building cursing the paper-thin walls. But he's also absurdly beautiful with big, brown, whimsical eyes, a deep and smooth voice that leaves Derek torn between wanting it to sing him lullabies or order him to bend over, and just a general energy to him that Derek can't help find intoxicating.

 

And here he is, in the early daylight hours, basically fucking the air in front of the washing machines, and Derek definitely whimpers, because _holy shit_ , those hips can move. Thanks to the earbuds Mr. S doesn't hear it, but the next second he does a twirl, spots Derek, and almost falls on his ass with a yelp.

 

“Oh my god!” he cries, clasping his chest with one hand and pulling out the earbuds with the other. “Warn a guy, you creeper!” The words would be accusing, but the tone is joking, and Mr. S twinkles those lovely eyes at Derek until he remembers that he does actually possess the ability to both walk and talk.

 

“Sorry. You were... distracted. And I'm not awake,” he says slowly. All of which is true, and he kinda regrets not taking the time to fix his hair and his beard that morning. It hadn't felt necessary, since he didn't plan on moving further than the laundry room, but hindsight is twenty/twenty and all that.

 

“I hear ya. Long week?” Mr. S asks, leaning back against the rickety counter by the wall, and fiddling with the zipper on the duffle he obviously carried his laundry in.

 

Derek nods, and finally moves enough to let the door swing closed behind him. He should really get the machines going, or he'll risk missing the narrow window allotted to every time slot. “Yeah. Been busy with the three kidnapping cases.” They were all over the news, so he's not even saying too much.

 

“Oh, right, you're a cop. Cool. My dad is too. Or county Sheriff, actually. But, you know.”

 

And suddenly they're talking. Mr. S is apparently named Stiles, and not only can he dance at eight a.m., he can also talk a mile a minute. Derek appreciates it, and lets the words wash over him until he's almost floating. He doesn't even notice that Stiles takes his own laundry out of the driers at one point, and starts folding clothes instead of leaving. It's only when Derek's clothes are spinning in the drier, and steps are echoing down the stairs outside that Stiles seems to remember that his time slot ended an hour ago.

 

“So, uh, gotta go, but. You know, maybe I'll see you around. Maybe next Sunday?” he asks, and it sounds almost like an invitation. Derek nods before he's even aware of it, and it gets him such a sunny smile that his legs feel a little wobbly.

 

It's only later he remembers that Sundays are actually a shitty time for him to do laundry, but he's in too deep already, and takes more night shifts to make up for it.

 

So he and Stiles end up having a standing laundry date on Sundays. It becomes something Derek looks forward to, even though he's usually extremely tired after a night shift at that point, and can barely keep his eyes open. But Stiles calls his sleepy face cute a few times, so he figures it can't be that bad.

 

They're not neighbors, strictly speaking, but their apartments are kind of across from each other, the doors offset on either side on the hallway, so they do cross paths every so often coming or going.

 

Sometime after starting their Sunday laundry dates, Derek is leaving for another night shift when Stiles comes stumbling out from the stairwell, singing something that sounds vaguely like dubstep, and wobbling on his feet. Derek stares at him, because while it's obvious he's intoxicated and somewhat disheveled, he also looks good enough to eat, his jeans almost painted on, and his t-shirt stretching tight across his broad shoulders. He's quite possibly wearing some kind of makeup too, his eyes darkly outlined, making them seem even bigger and more expressive as he spots Derek and immediately makes a beeline for him.

 

“Officer Hale!” he greets, a little unsteady on his feet. “Are you on duty yet? I hope not, 'cause- 'cause then you'd have to arrest me. Yup. 'Cause I'm drunk and disorderly, yes sir. Mostly disorderly, but also drunk,” he explains, slurring a little. “Not that I'd mind being taken in by a shining example of law enforcement like yourself, no siree bob.”

 

Derek can't help but grin to himself as Stiles slumps up against the wall, trying to look casual, but mostly looking like his legs don't work properly. “I'm not gonna arrest you, Stiles. It's not against the law to be drunk, and you're not bothering anyone.”

 

“But I'm disorderly, Derek! Did you miss that part?!” Stiles cries. “Come on, bring out those handcuffs. I'd get my own, but they're in my bedroom, and it's kinda far away right now.”

 

Reminding himself harshly that Stiles is drunk and will probably be mortified in the morning, Derek stomps down on the images his brain helpfully conjures up at those words. “Uhm. Right. Look, Stiles, you should probably get inside. Have some water and maybe go to bed.”

 

“Come onnn, take me in, officer,” he whines, following it up with a really kind of sad attempt at waggling his eyebrows. “I have so many dirty law enforcement fantasies now, and do you have any idea how awkward that is when your dad is a cop too?”

 

“Oh jeez. Okay, Stiles, give me your keys.”

 

“I don't know where this is going, but I like it,” Stiles says, and digs around in his pocket until he can find them. As Derek comes closer to take the key ring, Stiles almost falls into him, clutching at his shoulders and breathing boozy air across his face, which would be gross if he wasn't incredibly distracted by having Stiles' sultry eyes and pink lips so close. “You should really take me in,” he purrs. “But you don't even need to. Because I... have been taken in by you for a while now, Officer Hale.”

 

If only Stiles hadn't been so incredibly drunk, those words would have been music to Derek's ears, but he knows all too well the shit you say when you're drunk isn't always accurate or meant to be said out loud, so he pulls himself together, and gently pries Stiles' arms off him so he can prop him up against the wall again, and start unlocking his door.

 

“Go have some water and then go to bed,” Derek says, once the door is open and he can help Stiles inside. His apartment is a little messy but seems nice enough, and Stiles collapses on his couch in a tangle of limbs as soon as Derek stops holding him up.

 

“You're nice to me,” Stiles slurs into a throw pillow. “Very nice. But you could be nicer. Like nicer to my _dick_. I'd be nice to yours too, I'm very nice to dicks.”

 

Derek has to clear his throat to get past that one, and decides he'd better go find that water, because Stiles clearly isn't moving anytime soon. He lets Derek hoist him up without protest, though, and drinks the water when it's put in front of him, and Derek feels marginally better about leaving Stiles alone. He's already late for his shift.

 

“Are you gonna be okay?” he asks, just to be sure, and Stiles nods, head lolling against the back of the couch.

 

“Yup. I'm fine. Stilinskis are always fine. Even when we're not. But I'm fine.” He heaves his head up until he can look Derek in the eye, and gives him a small smile. “You're fine, too. Fine as _hell_.”

 

“Ooookay,” Derek says, and figures he'd better leave before Stiles says more things he might regret. But he's not a saint, so he stops with his hand on the doorknob and turns to face Stiles again. “Look, I don't know how much you tend to remember when you're drunk, but... tell me all of this again tomorrow, and then maybe we can talk about a date or something. Okay?”

 

“Yessssss,” Stiles says, fistpumping to himself before slumping sideways again, and Derek pinches his lips shut to avoid laughing, because that's just adorable, and then lets himself out of the apartment and goes to work.

 

He doesn't see Stiles again for a few days, and he'd like to say it doesn't bother him, but it does. Clearly all the drunken rambling was only that, and Derek is going to be a sensible adult and _not_ mention it, of course, but he's probably gonna spend some time moping, because he _had_ hoped.

 

Sunday is looming, and he's tempted to just skip the laundry, because he's actually pretty on top of it right now, since he's been going every week to see Stiles. But considering they're basically neighbors it would only postpone the inevitable, and all else aside Derek enjoys his time with Stiles. He'll get over the awkwardness and his stupid crush soon enough. He does drag his feet, though, for as long as possible, before hauling his laundry basket down the stairs to the basement.

 

When he opens the door he almost drops the basket, because there are flowers pretty much directly in his face.

 

“Shit, sorry!” Stiles says, and pulls back a little. “Sorry, I was just... I was starting to think you wouldn't come, and I panicked.” He moves uneasily from foot to foot, holding a really nice bouquet of flowers, and as far as Derek can tell he didn't even bring any laundry of his own. “These are for you. As a thank you and an apology for whatever I definitely said to you to make you uncomfortable the other night.”

 

Derek's heart sinks, because clearly Stiles doesn't remember, and probably didn't mean anything by it. But Derek can be the bigger person here. “It's fine,” he says shortly. “ We all say shit we don't mean when we're drunk.”

 

Stiles' eyes widen. “No, dude, no, that's- I meant all of it. I'm not even sure if I said everything out loud, but I definitely meant it. I just... kinda wish I hadn't almost groped you against your will. Seriously, if you wanna press charges for molestation or something, I won't blame you.”

 

Happiness wells up in Derek's chest, and he drops his laundry basket on the nearest machine without bothering to put anything in it. “You seem awfully insistent on me arresting you,” he says, grinning as he moves closer, because he's apparently _allowed_.

 

“Hey, I am a healthy, well-adjusted adult, and I stand by my kinks,” Stiles says, and even offers a wink as he gives Derek the flowers, now that he has his hands free to take them.

 

“Well. I'm afraid _I'm_ not that interesting,” he admits, though he'd probably let Stiles expand his horizons significantly in that respect if he wanted to. He takes the flowers and makes a point of smelling them. Because they're nice, and he likes them.

 

“But _god_ , you're cute,” Stiles says on a sigh, and, okay, Derek hasn't blushed in years, but there his face goes, getting all hot.

 

“You too,” he manages, and he's sure there are pre-schoolers more suave than him out there, but Stiles doesn't seem to care, beaming hugely at him.

 

“Please tell me I can kiss you now, because I'm dying to,” Stiles says, and Derek doesn't wait for him to make the first move.

 

Flowers and laundry both end up forgotten in the laundry room, because spending a Sunday making out on Stiles' couch seems an infinitely better use of Derek's precious free time.

 

And it turns out Stiles was right. He is indeed very nice to dicks. Especially Derek's.

 

End.

 


End file.
